


The Finest Thing Around

by alwayseven



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayseven/pseuds/alwayseven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for  for the  Summer of 2009 exchange.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Finest Thing Around

**Author's Note:**

> Written for for the Summer of 2009 exchange.

The sun's beginning to set when they take the final I-40 exit, following the signs for Wrightsville, the flow of traffic heading East.

Brendon's got his feet up on the dash of Jon's six year old Toyota, his face pressed to the window, mouth open in sleep.

He wakes with a start when Jon nudges him. "Bren, we're almost here," Jon says quietly.

Brendon's exhausted but he never misses this part, the drive over the bridge into the tiny town he and Jon have been coming to with their families since they had to wear floaties with their swim trunks.

"Wha?" Brendon mumbles, groggy and disoriented. He's got a crick in his neck from sleeping all twisted around and he's sweaty despite the AC going.

He blinks sleepy eyes at Jon who's got an excited grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Almost there, B."

Brendon feels a thrill swoop through him and he grins as he sits up straighter, his body protesting with a groan.

It's going to be different this year, for a number of reasons. Brendon's trying not to let it ruin the excitement of another summer in Wrightsville. He presses his face to the glass, watches the town crest before them, beach houses and boats floating up before them as they take the bridge, leaving Wilmington for the Carolina Coast.

The roads are busy, sidewalks full of people heading home for the evening.

Jon pulls into the narrow driveway of the old house, a tiny alley that leads to the beach, tucked into a maze of condos, restaurants, a bar and the laundromat/liquor store/deli where Brendon's spent a lot of two ams.

Jon kills the engine and Brendon climbs out of the car, body wincing as he adjusts, trying to work out fifteen hours worth of driving from his bones.

Brendon starts unloading the car as Jon climbs the rickety steps to the front door.

They've been coming to this house together since Brendon was a baby and for everything that's happened, all the ups and downs, coming here always reminds Brendon that some things never change.

Brendon grabs the cooler and his and Jon's duffles and lugs them up the steps, the weathered wood creaking under the weight. He steps through the door, the open space filled with the late afternoon glow of the sun beginning to go down and breathes in. It smells slightly musty but when Jon opens one of the windows along the bank, everything rushes in, the sound of the waves, the salt in the air. He drops everything on the old wood floor and grins.

It takes a few trips to unload the car and get everything into the house. Brendon takes their surfboards out to the deck and goes down the steps where there's a history of old bathing suits, flip flops missing a mate, the bicycle Brendon and Jon both learned to ride, a box full of empty beer cans they never got to the recycling center.

There's a shower beneath the deck, a rickety fixture Brendon remembers both his and Jon's dads spending more than a few hours trying to install.

Brendon kicks off his shoes, pushes through the old wooden gate and then he's got his bare toes in the sand, and it's like he never left, never had to wait a Chicago winter to get back here.

He bends to roll his jeans up to his knees, pulls his t-shirt off over his head and leaves it on the gate.

The beach is still crowded despite being close to seven. Now that the heat has dissipated slightly, the sky a glow of colors.

Brendon weaves his way through the labyrinth of rainbow umbrellas, babies asleep in pack and plays, and tents and walks down towards the water.

There are surfers, knee-boarders, kids in inner tubes, kites in the air, everything so familiar and reassuring.

Brendon stands with his toes in the wet sand, feeling it slide through his toes, waits for the waves to come to him. He tilts his face up towards the blue sky where it's beginning to grow pink.

There's a hand on his back but Brendon doesn't flinch, knows it's Jon.

"You couldn't wait for me?" Jon mumbles teasingly, tucking his chin over Brendon's shoulder. He grins against Brendon's skin, lets out a sigh that Brendon feels vibrate through him.

"Ryan called," Jon says quietly, pulling away and stooping to roll up his own jeans. "He says he and his friend, Spencer, are about half an hour away."

Brendon makes a noise that's just mostly noncommittal. He's not looking forward to meeting Ryan, Jon's best friend from college. Logically Brendon knows he's got nothing to worry about but the fact that Jon invited Ryan here, to this place that's always been his and Jon's, it maybe stings just a little.

There's a yell through the crowd of people from somewhere behind them and they turn together, already grinning.

Pete's standing in the brush, his t-shirt hanging off his head, grinning at the two of them.

Brendon beams, arms above his head and lets out a whoop.

"What the fuck took you two so long? It's boring as hell waiting for you to show up." Pete looks exactly the same, though it's been almost eight months since the last time Brendon saw him. Part of Brendon wonders if Pete will always look this way, white grin in his tan face, black hair swept off his forehead, all tattooed skin and short legs.

They plod through the hot sand, Brendon wincing as it burns his skin before he adjusts. Pete pulls Brendon in, arms tight around his back. "Fuck, you're growing up, you skinny fucker."  
Brendon laughs against Pete's hair and squeezes him back, giddy with it.

Jon's next and Pete slaps his back, calls him a couple dirty names, and lets him go with a laugh.

"Patrick's waiting for you, he's making meatball subs for the special tonight," Pete says as the three of them make their way out of the sand into the shade of narrow crowded buildings, up an alleyway identical to the hundreds of alleys that dot the beach, separate sand from concrete.

Pete owns most of Wrightsville's small business in some form or another, though he spends the time he's not passed out on the beach at the Depot, the laundromat/liquor store/deli two buildings down from their house.

He's barely twenty-eight but Brendon's known him since Pete was fourteen, hauling a cart up and down the sand selling popsicles to little kids and teenagers.

The Depot is cool and bright when they step inside the wide doors. There are tables outside on the makeshift patio, red vinyl booths inside along the bank of windows, several washers and dyers in the corner and a mess of shelves behind the counter with beer and various bottles of liquor.

The Depot is known for its subs and pizza, imported all the way from Chicago. And it's popularity comes mostly from the fact it's the only place on the strip open twenty-four hours. During the summer when the town is packed to capacity with college kids and families, it's almost always impossible to find a place to sit.

It's pretty noisy now as Brendon takes a look around, scanning the space for Patrick.

He finds him behind the grill in the back, a hat tucked down over his sandy hair, glasses getting fogged from the heat of whatever he's cooking.

Patrick is Brendon's second favorite person in the world, second only to Jon and someday, when Patrick comes to his senses and dumps Pete, Brendon fully intends to marry him.

Brendon moves into the kitchen, steps right up behind Patrick and throws his arms around Patrick's middle.

Patrick starts, lets out a choked noise of alarm before relaxing when he realizes it's Brendon.

Patrick's laughing as he turns, throws an arm around Brendon's shoulder and tucks him in against his side. "When did you get taller than me? How the fuck did that happen?"

Brendon doesn't say anything, just inhales, taking in the familiar way Patrick smells, the shape of him.

It's only been the last few years that Patrick has chosen to stay year-round in Wrightsville, instead of coming back to Chicago the way he did when he was sixteen, seventeen, and Brendon could see him whenever he wanted.

Brendon's stopped giving Patrick a hard time about it though, now that he knows what it's like to want to be around someone all the time, no matter what you have to give up.

Pete's sitting on the counter, slapping his bare feet against the cabinets, flip flops discarded on the floor. Jon's got a beer and hs nodding along, laughing, at whatever Pete's telling him, probably some ridiculous story about one of the co-eds that always come into the Depot, oblivious to the fact that Pete's been head over socks for Patrick since Patrick was painfully illegal.

"Tell me about your roommate," Pete says to Jon and Brendon scowls, makes a noise against Patrick. Patrick tightens his arm around Brendon and hums sympathetically.

Brendon half listens as Jon tells Pete about Ryan, this ridiculously smart kid from Las Vegas who Jon got paired with his second year at Illinois.

Jon asked Brendon before he offered the beach house to Ryan and his best friend for the summer but what was Brendon supposed to do, say no?

So any minute now Ryan and Spencer are going to show up for three months of sharing Brendon's favorite place in the world and Brendon is fully aware that he's not being particularly mature about the whole thing.

"How jealous are you?" Pete asks, uncharacteristically understanding, all low out of Jon's earshot.

"Not," Brendon says firmly, scowling.

Patrick laughs against Brendon's cheek.

Jon gets back from taking a leak and says, "got a text, they just got to the bridge."

"Bring them over and we'll make you some subs," Patrick says. He gives Brendon a small smile and says low, "we'll talk later."

Brendon throws his arms around Patrick's shoulders, kisses him soundly on the cheek and says, "I missed you so much."

"Hey now," Pete growls playfully, smacking Brendon on the ass. "Lay off my man."

Patrick scowls and waves his spatula in Pete's face.

Brendon follows Jon through the mess of girls in bikinis standing by the door and out of the Depot.

They walk back towards the house, Jon's arm thrown loosely around Brendon's shoulder.

"It's going to be an awesome summer," Jon beams, tugging Brendon closer.

Brendon's heart barely flip flops, used to this by now, to the way Jon's always made him crazy, made his stomach spin, made his pulse speed and skip.

There's still a sense of anxiety somewhere in his belly at the unknown, the fact that things are going to be different this summer.

They sit on the stairs, waiting and Jon calls his parents to let him know things are fine. Jon's uncle lives in the next house over, there if anything goes wrong, though really he's a sixteen year old kid masquerading as an adult.

Brendon calls his own mom, leaves a message on the house phone that he and Jon made it okay.

It's only three weeks until the Fourth of July, until everyone's coming down for a week, but there's some trepidation on the parental side that there won't be enough supervision.

Brendon tried to tell them that having Pete and Patrick around, and Gabe, when he finally gets here later this week, would be just like having parents looking out for them, but he didn't even believe that bullshit so he wasn't surprised that it did nothing to alleviate the worries of both his and Jon's parents.

There's the honking of a horn and Brendon looks up to see a beater of a car, an old Volvo station wagon coming up the alley, all rusted paint and rattling engine.

Jon gets to his feet, smiling, and pulls Brendon up with him.

"Hey," Jon says when the driver, whom Brendon assumes is Ryan, rolls the window down. "You can park around the corner, there's a lot that belongs to this strip of houses."

Ryan smiles and nods and says, "okay, we'll see you in a second."

Brendon and Jon follow them down to the lot that abuts the dunes. Ryan and Spencer park with the wagon nosed up against the weeds.

Ryan and Jon exchange half hugs and Jon pulls Brendon against him like a little brother to show off. Brendon makes a face and resists shoving his elbow in Jon's stomach. "This is Brendon," Jon says.

Brendon pastes a wide, toothy smile on his face, holds out his hand like an idiot and says brightly, "hi."

Ryan's lips curve in an amused half smile that doesn't quite make it to his eyes and he shakes Brendon's hand.

Ryan is thin, thinner even than Brendon himself, and slightly taller. He's got dark hair that's been straight ironed within an inch of its life, bangs swept off his forehead. There's a faint smudge of eyeliner beneath his dark eyes. He's kind of cute, in a skinny, eye-linered way.

Ryan's gesturing to the kid leaning against the hood of Ryan's car and saying to Brendon, "this is Spencer." Spencer and Jon have already met briefly.

Uh oh, is Brendon's first thought, taking in Spencer and his long long legs, his slightly feminine hips, the stretch of his pink t-shirt over the bare swell of belly. He's got bright blue eyes and a sweet smile and Brendon can already tell from the way Jon's smiling at him that this is going to be a problem.

Spencer has "JON'S TYPE" written all over him. Brendon's past experiences with Jon's flings, never boyfriends - Jon doesn't date the boys, has him itching to grab Spencer and warn him to stay far far away.

Jon's a good guy, one of the greatest, and Brendon's best friend. But he's undeniably screwed up when it comes to guys and Brendon has no desire to spend the next three months in his own personal soap opera.

"So," Brendon says brightly, swinging his arms. "You need help with your stuff?"

Ryan's sort of quiet, Brendon realizes as they unpack his car. And he's got this weird sort of telepathic thing with Spencer that makes Brendon feel like he's just missed something pretty huge, the two of them hardly talking but going off each other like they completely understand one another.

They help Spencer and Ryan with their luggage and it only takes one trip to get it all, lugging it back towards the house and up the steps.

"This is nice," Spencer says, looking around the wide open living room, turning towards the sliding doors and the view of the ocean. "Wow," he says a little under his breath.

Brendon likes him already, he realizes. He goes to stand next to Spencer, looks out towards the beach with him.

"You guys are fucking lucky," Spencer mumbles, awed. "I spent my summers in Las Vegas."

Brendon makes a sympathetic face. "Hey, but we get three months here. It's going to awesome."

"Awesome," Spencer says with an amused curve of his mouth, turning and giving Brendon an appraising look.

Jon shows Spencer and Ryan the room they'll be sharing, down the hall with a corner view of the water.

It's almost 8:30 and it's getting dark, though the sun's still a pink blur when they grab wallets and keys and head back up towards the Depot.

Brendon walks with Ryan, falling behind Jon who's doing his best to charm Spencer.

"Uh oh," Ryan says just low enough for Brendon.

Brendon turns to Ryan, questioning.

"Spencer's in trouble," Ryan says by way of explanation, making a vague gesture towards Spencer's pink cheeks.

"You noticed that too, did you," Brendon mumbles, kicking at the gravel, annoyed. It's been a while since his spitting jealousy, since feeling like he would fall apart anytime Jon so much as glanced at anyone who wasn't Brendon, and now it's just a low ache in his stomach that's so much a part of him it's not much different than breathing.

"I kind of knew this might happen," Ryan admits as they push through the doors of the Depot.

"Spencer was halfway to being in love with Jon when he came to visit over Spring Break, though nothing happened," Ryan assures Brendon, noticing the look on Brendon's face.

"Oh," Brendon says flatly. He really doesn't want to talk about this anymore so he grabs Ryan's arm and pulls him towards the back through the kids eating popsicles lingering in the front.

"Patrick!" Brendon yells, pushing through the swinging door. "This is Ryan," Brendon babbles, waving back and forth between Ryan and Patrick. "Ryan, Patrick. Patrick, where's my dinner?"  
"Um, hey," Ryan says, a little bemused, shaking Patrick's hand.

"Nice to meet you," Patrick says like the sweetheart he is. He turns towards Brendon and motions to the grill where he's got a couple of rolls heating up. "Nice to know you're still a spoiled little shit," he says, all congenially because Brendon knows Patrick could never really be annoyed with him.

"You want peppers on yours?" Brendon asks Ryan, nudging Patrick aside to start assembling the subs.

"Yes, thanks," Ryan says, leaning against the counter. He watches Brendon put the subs in plastic baskets and help himself to a mountain of fries.

Patrick gestures to a cooler just outside the kitchen. "Help yourself to whatever you want to drink," he says to Ryan as he flips burgers.

"You're my favorite, Patrick," Brendon beams, hands full of four baskets, piled high, and smacks his lips against Patrick's cheek.

"Here, let me help," Ryan says, grabbing two baskets from Brendon and pushing the door open, holding it with his hip for Brendon.

Jon and Spencer are sitting side by side at a booth by the window, heads bent together.

Brendon stumbles over his toes for a beat and scowls, pissed at himself. Nothing's changed. There's nothing different or new about this, he's been in this same situation a million times, there's no reason for this. He sets the baskets in front of Jon and Spencer and slides into the booth.

Ryan pushes in next to him, sets a basket in front of Brendon and Brendon just bends his head and shovels fries in his face to keep from saying something he'll regret later. He's not thirteen anymore. Fuck, he's not even seventeen, secretly waiting for Jon to ask him to prom or show up at his door with a song he wrote just for him.

Brendon realizes Ryan's watching him sidelong, pushing a fry into his mouth. He leans in close, his breath warm and salty against Brendon's cheek. "I'm sorry."

Brendon's head flies up, heat blooming on his face. Jon and Spencer aren't paying anyone any attention.

"It's fine, don't make a deal," Brendon says, hopes he doesn't sound pleading. It's pathetic is what it is and he doesn't want Ryan, this guy he just met for fuck's sake, pitying him because there's a little unrequited love going on.

Ryan's just sort of watching Brendon so Brendon asks him about his music, the songs he and Jon have been writing together, the reason they hit it off so well.

Ryan has a nice smile, Brendon realizes, and his face changes from something closed off and dark to soft when his eyes light up like that.

Ryan tells Brendon about the experimental guitar riff he came up with that sounds sort of trippy, like a sitar almost, and how he warped it on Garage Band.

"Cool," Brendon says around a bite of sub, nodding. "You could play it for me if you wanted, I'd like to hear it."

"You play?" Ryan asks, surprised.

Brendon nods. "Taught myself mostly. I have my guitar at the house, we should totally do something later."

Ryan looks interested, leaning towards Brendon, face engaged and it's a nice look on him. He's got nice eyes, Brendon thinks.

 

* * * 

 

 

They hang out at the Depot until close to midnight, until Brendon stands up. "I'm getting up to go surfing," he says, grinning.

Morning, before the heat hits and the crowds descend, is his favorite time to be in the water.

They all head back to the house then, shouting goodbye to Pete and Patrick and leaving a handful of change on the scarred formica tabletop.

The house is pleasantly cool when they get back, the breeze from the water coming in through the open windows.

Brendon doesn't say much to Jon, not for any particular reason, he just learned a long time ago when to keep his mouth shut for the sake of self preservation where Jon is concerned.

They stand side by side in the bathroom that connects their bedrooms. Brendon brushes his teeth and watches Jon's face in the mirror.

"What do you think?" Jon asks around his tooth brush, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Brendon shrugs. "Ryan seems really smart," he says, leaning forward to spit into the sink. He knows what Jon's doing and he's way too tired to play this game with him.

Jon opens his mouth to correct Brendon, ask him about Spencer, but Brendon cuts him off with a "going to bed, g'night."

He leaves Jon standing there, confused, and goes to his room.

 

* * *

 

Brendon sets his alarm for seven the following morning but he's up at quarter of. He brushes his teeth, splashes cool water on his face and goes out to the kitchen.

Ryan's sitting at the counter, a mug of coffee cupped between the palms of his hands.

"Morning," Brendon yawns. "You're up early. Everything okay?"

Ryan nods. "I just don't sleep much," he says quietly, something about the way he says it making Brendon feel like it's not open for discussion.

"Want to go surfing with me?" Brendon asks, reaching above the counter for a mug of his own.

Ryan laughs, a startled chuckle. It's a nice sound. "You obviously just met me, otherwise you'd never ask me that."

Brendon pours himself a cup of coffee and stares blankly at Ryan. "You allergic to water?"

Ryan shakes his head, rueful. "Not very athletic," he says with a shrug.

Brendon makes a scoffing noise. "Whatever, anyone can surf." He drinks half of his coffee, sets the mug in the sink and turns to leave.

"Just wait, Ross, I'll get you on a board before the summer's up."

Brendon stands on the upper deck, his wet suit bunched around his waist and takes a deep breath. It's already warm, but there's a crispness in the air, the breeze that whips around the trees.

The sun is starting to crawl up over the horizon, pinks and oranges lighting the sky in a glow, reflecting off the clear water.

Brendon gets chills still, coming back after eight months away, after a winter in Chicago, too many dreams that he's back here in the sunshine and waking up to four feet of snow.

Brendon waxes his board, grabs a towel and heads down the stairs, watching his step for splintered wood.

The beach is mostly empty, the lifeguards not yet at work, just some early morning joggers out with their dogs, a group of surfers testing the waves.

Brendon drops his towel at a spot near the lifeguard station, stands his board up in the sand and pushes his arms into the sleeves of his wet suit. The water's probably warm enough that he doesn't need it but he spent enough money on it that he feels the need to wear it at least a few times this summer.

Brendon recognizes most of the guys, and several girls, out in the water.

He shouts hello to some of them as he grabs his board and runs in.

The water feels amazing, cool against his skin, not yet warmed from the sun.

Tom hangs back from the group to wait for him and he slaps hands when Brendon reaches him.

"Hey, man, welcome back." Tom's one of the few who, like Pete and Patrick, live in Wrightsville year-round. He's a year older than Jon and he's the one who taught Brendon to surf, the year Brendon turned twelve and was tagging along after the older kids and their knee-boards.

Brendon straddles his board and looks out where the water blurs with the horizon and it's all a mess of blues, gorgeous and welcoming and endless.

"I hate leaving," Tom says quietly, cutting into Brendon's thoughts. "But when I have to do, coming back is the best part, falling in love with this place all over again."

It's exactly how Brendon feels. When he's finished school, saved some money, he'll move down here, find a place of his own.

Brendon pulls the sleeve of his wetsuit back to glance at his watch. He's got an hour before he has to be at Wings, the beach supply store a block from the house where he's worked part time the last three summers, thanks to the owner who owes Brendon's father a favor from twenty years ago. Brendon doesn't know the details and he's afraid to ask.

He nods at Tom. "Lead the way," he says, grinning.

It takes a few runs for it all to come rushing back, sense memory in his bones. He crashes hard on the third go but when Tom yanks him back up, spitting water and eyes stinging, he's beaming, the thrill of it rushing through his blood, a greater high than any he's ever known.

He rides a pretty large wave with six other surfers, a line of boards and curved bodies, following the flow of the ocean and he's smiling the entire time.

He yells bye to the crowd and splashes through the water, surfboard under his arm. The beach is still mostly empty and Ryan's sitting on Brendon's towel, coffee cup in hand.

"Hey," Brendon says, shaking water from his hair, careful of getting Ryan wet.

"You're good," Ryan says, nodding towards the waves.

"Thanks but you obviously haven't ever seen a real surfer before," Brendon says wryly. "I don't know if Jon told you but I have a job over at Wings." Brendon unzips his wet suit and yanks it down his chest to bunch at his waist.

Ryan's looking up at Brendon, eyes shielded with a cupped hand. "I'll walk with you," he says quietly, getting to his feet. He's wearing thin cotton pants, the same ones Brendon's sure he slept in. When he stands, they do nothing to hide every curve of Ryan's slight ass, his thin legs.

Brendon looks away and follows Ryan up the sand back to the house.

"I'll just be a few minutes," Brendon calls over his shoulder, zipping through the living room to shower and change.

He rinses the salt from his hair, the sand from the crevices, and dresses in board shorts and an old Carolina Beach shirt.

Ryan's sitting on the edge of the sofa. "Spencer's still sleeping," Ryan tells him. "I don't know about Jon."

Brendon shakes his head. "He works at the grocery store until noon. He was up at six."

Brendon grabs his wallet and a can of Coke for later. "You can hang out at Wings with me, if you want. I only work eight to noon."

Ryan shrugs. "I'll walk with you and come hang out after Spence wakes up. I don't want to leave him alone."

That's kind of sweet, Brendon thinks, his skin warming a little at the way Ryan's eyes go soft at the mention of Spencer.

It takes all of a minute to walk to Wings. Everything in Wrightsville is crammed together, a mile of houses and business on one main road, every nook and alley filled to capacity.

Every morning during the summer at nine, like clockwork, the streets fill with cars and kids in strollers, girls in bathing suits and cover ups, college guys lugging coolers and blankets. Until then, it's mostly quiet, the street empty.

They don't say much as they walk, Ryan in his own head, Brendon replaying a pretty epic wave he got to ride.

Ms. Owen, the owner of Wings is just unlocking the doors when Brendon and Ryan cross the street.

"Hi sugar," she beams at him, wrapping thin arms around him and kissing his cheek.

"Morning, ma'am," he says, minding his Southern manners even though there's not a Southern bone in his body. When in Wrightsville, do as the Southerners do, his mom always cautioned him, having come here since she was a little girl.

"This is Ryan, he's staying with us this summer." Brendon introduces them and Ms. Owen ignores Ryan's outstretched hand to kiss him, too, on the cheek.

"Aren't you the cutest? I sure hope you'll be around to keep Brendon company," she tells him.

Ms. Owen finishes opening the store and Ryan heads back to the house, tells Brendon he'll be back in a little while.

Wings sells every and anything anyone could possibly need or want for a day at the beach. The first floor is full of tacky Carolina Coast souvenirs, blankets, t-shirts, purses made of shells. The walls are lined with boards, surf boards and knee boards, tents and canopies, beach chairs and lounge chairs, fishing rods.

The second floor is more of the same, rainbow-striped umbrellas, coolers, flip flops in neon colors.

The first hour is slow, sitting behind the main counter and flipping through an old copy of People Magazine.

It speeds up around nine, as families filter in to take a look at the inner tubes, the right tools for building the perfect sand castle, snacks and drinks for when the sun gets to be a little too much.

Brendon's kept busy, helping kids find the right kite, using the ladder to pull boards from the wall.

Ryan comes back at ten, with a backpack slung over his shoulder like he's thinking of staying a while.

Brendon stops in the middle of ringing up a little girl's popsicle and beams at Ryan, weirdly pleased to see him.

"Hi," he says, his cheeks sore from the force of his grin. "You can sit back here with me," he tells him and hands the little girl her change.

Ryan sits up on the long high bench that runs the length of the wall, legs crossed beneath him.

For the next two hours, Ryan keeps Brendon company, reading his book while Brendon zips around the store, helping customers.

At noon, his replacement - a pretty girl who's a sophomore at UNC Chapel Hill - comes to relieve him and Brendon grabs Ryan's wrist.

"Let's go to the beach," he says, dragging Ryan out of the store.

"I don't really like the beach," Ryan confesses and Brendon stops still, drops Ryan's wrist.

Ryan cracks a small smile at the look on Brendon's face and shrugs. "Sorry, I just. It's never really appealed to me."

Brendon's so stunned at the idea that anyone could possibly not love the beach that he doesn't quite know what to say. "Whatever, you just haven't been to this beach, you'll see the error of your ways."

Brendon marches them back to the house. "Get your suit on, I'll make up the cooler," he instructs.

Spencer's sitting out on the deck, legs curled up underneath him, earbuds in his ears. Brendon goes out to him and nudges him with his shoulder. "Me and you and Ryan are going to the beach."

Spencer looks up, eyebrows raised. "Ryan? My Ryan?"

Brendon grins. "Let's go, go get your suit on."

Spencer looks a little incredulous but he gets up and goes to change.

Brendon sends Jon a quick text message, telling him to meet them at the beach when he gets off work and then goes into the kitchen to throw things in the cooler. His and Jon's mothers both doubted their sons' abilities to grocery shop for themselves so they'd sent down enough food to feed a football team. Brendon makes a bunch of hasty sandwiches, throws peaches and grapes in the cooler along with cans of Coke and Dr. Pepper for Jon and a few bags of Lays.

Ryan and Spencer are waiting on the stairs when Brendon hauls the cooler out, needing both hands because he maybe packed enough food for six meals.

"Ryan, you carry the umbrella," Brendon says, nodding at the ancient blue beach umbrella. He shoves four towels and a blanket at Spencer who takes them with an amused smirk.

"Okay, let's go," Brendon says, giddy.

They all go tripping down the stairs and Brendon's grateful it's a whole six steps to the sand because his arms are burning with the weight of the cooler.

The beach is crowded now, people as far as he can see in either direction. They find a place almost directly in front of the house, a patch of sand just wide enough for their blanket.

Spencer spreads it out while Brendon gets the umbrella set up, shoved down in the sand and casting a nice web of shade over their spot.

Brendon reaches for the sunscreen and starts lathering his skin. He stops when Ryan shrugs out of his t-shirt, pauses just to look. Ryan is really lanky and thin, but he's got muscular arms and a firm belly and Brendon has to look away, mouth dry suddenly.

He gets himself covered in lotion everywhere he can reach and then he turns to Ryan, thrusts the sunscreen at him and says, "please."

Brendon nearly jumps out of his skin at the first touch of Ryan's fingers at the back of his neck, gentle, tips slightly calloused.

He shivers, despite the fact it's nearly ninety-nine degrees out. His head falls forward and he closes his eyes as Ryan rubs lotion in to Brendon's skin, down his spine, his shoulders, the soft still slightly pudgy flesh at his hips.

"Thanks," he mutters, when Ryan hands the bottle back. "Your turn," he says, forcefully bright. Ryan has really pale, really soft skin, dotted here and there with tiny dark moles, standing out in contrast. Brendon resists the urge to fit his fingers in against the nobs of Ryan's spine.

When he's done, Brendon turns to Spencer and says, "let's go, Spencer Smith, time to get sunscreened."  
Spencer's watching them with a weird, slightly possessive look in his eyes that makes Brendon very nervous. Spencer is adorable and pretty and nice, but there's something about him that makes Brendon slightly wary, like this is not someone Brendon wants to be tangling with.

Brendon lathers Spencer's skin with lotion, tosses the bottle on the blanket and takes off at a run towards the water, feet burning in the sand.

He dives headlong into the waves and comes up spitting salt and laughing because Spencer's in with him and Ryan's sort of just standing there looking at Brendon like he really doesn't know what to make of him.

"Aww, do you need me to hold your hand? It's okay," Brendon laughs, climbing up towards where Ryan's standing.

Ryan scowls but he doesn't object when Brendon wraps his fingers in Ryan's and pulls him in.

Ryan looks surprised, eyes wide, when he's chest-deep. "Its warm," he says, awed.

"Isn't it awesome?" Brendon can't help but beam, splashing water at Ryan's chest.

Spencer comes up behind Brendon. "The last time Ryan was at the beach he was ten and it was the Oregon Coast," Spencer says by way of explanation.

"It was fucking freezing," Ryan says, shaking his head.

"This is the best beach," Brendon nods laughing as Ryan makes a determined face and pushes a handful of water at Brendon's face.

There are dozens of little kids around them to look out for so they move a little into deeper water, where it's just as clear.

Brendon floats on his back, makes circles in the water with his arms like oars, and tilts his face up to the sun.

Jon joins them a little while later, making a run for it and crashing into Brendon, pulling Brendon up against him, back to front.  
Brendon hisses, alarmed, and moves away as casually as he can but considering he all but pushes Jon away, he's pretty sure Jon notices.

Ryan for sure does, he's looking at Brendon with hooded eyes, an oddly sympathetic look.

Brendon ducks beneath the water, cool against his face, blocking everything out. He stays under until he runs out of breath. When he pops up, he says, loudly, "I'm hungry," and takes off, splashing, towards the sand.

He's not hungry at all but his heart is racing and he's having trouble catching his breath in a way that has nothing to do with being underwater.

He's done his best to train his body, to get so he stops reacting to Jon. He's pissed at himself but more than that he's angry that Jon, after years of knowing, still touches Brendon, pushes him like he's just trying to see how far he can go.

Brendon's kind of kicking at the sand, sending it flying as he stalks back to the blanket. He flops down on his back, arm over his eyes and takes a few breaths meant to steady him.

He feels someone settle down next to him a little while later and he can tell it's Ryan, because he says nothing.

Brendon's sort of fuming, irritated, when Ryan says, "So I don't know what to say, but I feel like there's something I should say."

Brendon pulls his arm away and just sort of blinks at Ryan.

"I'm sort of terrible at making friends," Ryan says in that quiet way he has. "I never had to, Spencer just showed up one day and told me we were going to be friends. I never needed anyone but him."

Brendon feels cartoonish, his mouth hanging open, staring like Ryan's grown another head. "Are you trying to tell me you want to be my friend?" he asks, just for clarification because there's no telling what Ryan's trying to say.

Ryan shrugs.

"I think we already are," Brendon says, smiling a little because Ryan is kind of awkward and really sweet.

Ryan nods. "Okay. So, do you want to talk about...that?" he says, hesitating, waving his hand back in the direction of the water.

"Not really," Brendon mutters, "it's just a lot of the same old."

"You're pissed at him."

Brendon rolls so he's sitting, legs crossed beneath him. He reaches into the cooler for two cans of Coke, hands one to Ryan. "I don't know," Brendon sighs. "it's not his fault. Mostly, I just hate that he still makes me crazy."

Ryan's holding the can of Coke between his hands, unmoving, just sort of watching Brendon.

Brendon lets him, unsure if Ryan's looking for something.

"I'm sorry," Ryan says then, soft and so genuine it makes Brendon's chest ache a little.

"Thanks," Brendon says, touched. He looks down, playing with the tab on his can. "You know, Ryan Ross," he says, smiling slightly when he looks up. "You're kind of surprising."

Brendon finishes his Coke and rolls to his back. He closes his eyes and just listens to the sounds, kids laughing, the waves cresting, jet skis and motorboats and all the other sounds of the beach.

Brendon blinks awake when the sun's starting to hang lower in the sky and the crowd cluttering the sand seems to have tripled in size. His skin feels tight like maybe he might have a burn. His mouth feels dry but there's drool on his chin and he makes a face, wiping at it with the back of his hand.

It takes him a second, eyes adjusting to the sunlight to realize Ryan's on his belly, face turned towards Brendon, watching him.

Brendon makes an embarrassed face and smiles, all sleepy and disoriented.

"Jon and Spencer went back a little while ago," Ryan tells him, lifting his cheek off the blanket to fold his arm beneath him and rest his face against his wrist.

"Mm, okay," Brendon murmurs. He's content to stay here for a while, forever even. Maybe it's surprising, considering how only yesterday he spent the majority of the drive from Chicago thinking about how he wasn't looking forward to meeting Ryan, to spending a summer here with him.

Brendon rolls so he's standing, looming over Ryan, and holds out his hand. "Come in the water with me."

Ryan blinks up at him but doesn't hesitate, just shrugs and lets Brendon pull him to his feet.

"First to the water buys dinner at the Depot," Brendon yells, taking off at a run. It's an obstacle course, no clear path to the water, and Brendon nearly face plants, tripping over a pink plastic bucket and shovel.

Ryan beats him, just barely, and he looks so surprised, pleased, that Brendon doesn't even mind.

They swim out a ways until it's too deep to stand and they tread water, talking quietly.

"You're not what I expected," Ryan says a little while later. His face is pink, mostly his nose, and Brendon thinks he looks adorable.

Brendon smiles, a little sheepish. "Yeah, you either."

Ryan's lips quirk dryly. "So you weren't looking forward to having me here."

Brendon shrugs. "But look, you proved me wrong."

Ryan kicks a little closer, close enough that Brendon can feel where their legs brush. "I almost didn't come. But...I didn't have anything to go back to Vegas for."

There's something there that Ryan's not sharing and Brendon wants to know, but he doesn't want to push. He reaches out, testing, tentative and brushes Ryan's hair out of his eyes.

"For selfish reasons," Brendon mumbles softly, "I'm kind of glad."

They don't say anything for a little while after that, both just sort of watching each other as they tread water, arms and legs moving, keeping them afloat.

They climb out of the water around seven when Brendon's stomach starts growling.

They leave their things, all the towels and the cooler and umbrella, in the sand and head up the beach to the Depot.

Pete's hanging outside, leaning against the stucco wall, shirtless, his board shorts riding obscenely low on his hips.

He's got a crowd of girls around him, hanging on his every word, stars in their eyes.

"Pete!" Brendon shouts, elbowing his way through the group. "You have that veggie pizza tonight?" Brendon asks, a hand on Ryan's wrist.

Pete takes it in and gives Brendon a wide, somewhat filthy smile. But he just nods and says, "Patrick saved you some, he's in the kitchen."

Brendon gets Ryan to save them a booth in the corner and wanders back to the kitchen.

Patrick's on the phone, writing down something on a to-go pad when Brendon pushes through the door. He looks up, smiling softly when he sees Brendon. He gestures towards the counter where there's a large veggie pizza on a cooling rack.

He reaches up, thumbs Brendon's nose where the skin is tight and stinging and mouths, "sunscreen."

Brendon rolls his eyes, says "thanks Mom," but leans across the counter to kiss Patrick's cheek.

Brendon slides into the booth, sets the pizza on the table and kicks his feet up on the bench next to Ryan.

"This is the best pizza you'll ever have," he promises, setting a slice on Ryan's plate.

It takes less than ten minutes, both of them starving from the afternoon of swimming and too much sun, to devour the pizza.

"I'll buy ice cream" Ryan offers after Brendon pays, leaves fifteen dollars on the table, and they've left the Depot to wander up and down Main.

Brendon throws his arm around Ryan's waist. "Keep sweet talking like that and you might be my new favorite," Brendon says, laughing.

Ryan doesn't shove Brendon off and they stay like that, stumbling over each other's feet as they head up the street to the ice cream shop.

Ryan buys them both waffle cones, a scoop of chocolate raspberry truffle for Brendon, dulce de leche for Ryan.

"Let's go back," Brendon says, meaning the beach. Ryan nods and they cut through one of the alleys towards the sand.

They settle back on the blanket with their cones, Brendon's bare feet tucked beneath him.

Afterwards, when they've gathered up all their thing, they head back to the house.

The lights are off when Brendon pushes the sliding door open, him and Ryan coming in off the deck.

It's dark so it takes a second for his eyes to adjust, his brain to catch up to what he's seeing, hearing.

Jon's on the sofa, Spencer above him. They aren't doing much more than making out, moving against each other, one of Jon's hands shoved down the back of Spencer's pants.

"Thanks," Brendon whispers, his throat closing up. "I had fun," he says because he did, and this doesn't affect that, he doesn't want Ryan to think this changes anything.

Brendon flips on the light by the door so he can see where he's going and walks through the living room, through to his bedroom.

He shuts the door quietly, picks up his pillow and presses it against his face hard until he doesn't feel like screaming anymore. After a minute of that, he throws it across the room where it lands against the door and falls to the floor. Not nearly as satisfying as something that would have smashed, shattered into a hundred pieces.

Brendon's pulling on a pair of cotton pajama pants when the door opens.

Brendon flings around, angry, looking for a fight.

"Don't you knock?" he says, petulant.

"We didn't know where you were," Jon says quietly, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.

"We got pizza at the Depot," Brendon says around a lump in his throat. He ties the drawstring on his pants and pulls the black tank top over his head, settling the hem at his hips.

"Will you please look at me?" Jon asks, soft and pleading.

Brendon sort of snaps then, too many years of this making him impatient, too tired for this run around.

"Just get out," he says.

"Brendon," Jon pleads. "You're my -"

"Don't say it!" Brendon yells then, reaching for the pillow. "Don't fucking say it." He clenches it in his hands because for the first time in his life he wants to put his fist through Jon's face.

Jon wouldn't ever intentionally hurt anyone but somehow Brendon's always in his way, always gets trampled when Jon's just trying to get to what he wants.

Jon looks so heartbroken then, that familiar "don't hate me because I don't want you" look in his eyes. It doesn't do anything for Brendon now. Jon goes to leave.

"Sometimes," Brendon admits then, voice sharp, "you really hurt me."

"Brendon," Jon whispers, sad. "I don't mean to."

Brendon swallows and turns away, counting his breaths for a minute. "I know," he says when he looks back. "That's what makes it hurt so bad."

Jon nods and lets himself out.

Brendon waits, trying to calm down on his own, before he goes out into the rest of the house.

Ryan and Spencer are on the couch, watching tv. Jon's nowhere to be seen.

Ryan stands up suddenly when he sees Brendon. "Want to go for a walk?" The way he says it, like he's trying, makes Brendon's chest feel tight in a way that's completely different from the way Jon makes him feel.

He smiles a little. "Yeah, I do."

It's dark now, though the night's lit up by the stars, tiny twinkling balls of light unlike anything Brendon's ever seen elsewhere. They walk down to the water, not saying much. Ryan touches his thumb to Brendon's wrist, tentative. Brendon gives him a small smile, touched at how Ryan tries. He takes Ryan's hand, curls their fingers together.

"You're kind of sweet," Brendon mumbles, turning towards Ryan. He takes a shaky breath that might have been a sob if he was alone and rests his forehead on Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan lets out a startled breath. He lifts a hand, rests it, unsure, on Brendon's lower back, warm even through the cotton of his shirt.

 

* * *

 

Brendon wakes up sometime in the middle of the night, needing to use the bathroom. There's a faint light coming from the room down the hall. Brendon relieves himself and pads down the hall, bare feet creaking against the old wood floor.

He stands in the dark hall and peeks his head around the corner. Spencer's asleep but Ryan's curled on his side, eyes open and unblinking.  
Brendon knows what he would do if it was Jon with that hollow, lonely look in his eyes, so Brendon does just that, pushes into the room and climbs up onto the bed.

Ryan turns, startled, opening his mouth to protest. Brendon shakes his head and fits himself against Ryan. He's warm, flushed, and kind of bony but it feels nice regardless when Brendon wraps an arm around Ryan's waist and pulls him back against his chest.

Ryan holds himself stiff until Brendon presses his lips to the soft skin at the nape of his neck. "Being a friend," Brendon whispers against his skin, "goes both ways, okay?"

Ryan relaxes a little then, takes a deep breath and lets it out, lets himself dissolve back against Brendon.

Brendon falls asleep and fully expects to be alone in the morning but when he blinks awake a little before eight, Ryan's still there. He's asleep, his face relaxed, not quite as tense as Brendon's used to.

Brendon has to pee, and his mouth tastes awful but he's warm and he doesn't want to move.

He's trying to get the motivation to get up when there's a soft "you don't know how much he's needed that," from the doorway.

Brendon cranes his head backward, trying not to jostle Ryan and risk waking him.

Spencer's still in his pajama bottoms and a soft ancient t-shirt, a bowl of cereal in his cupped hands.

"He doesn't talk to me anymore, not like he used to." Spencer sounds sad, a little helpless and Brendon knows about that, the way Jon completely shut him out when his grandfather got pancreatic cancer and there was nothing for Brendon to do but hold on and wait it out.

He doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything.

Spencer disappears and Brendon tucks his chin against the soft skin of Ryan's neck, where it's warm and sweat damp.

Brendon wakes up again a little while later when the alarm on his watch starts beeping. He goes to roll to his side, stopped short when he remembers Ryan. He opens his eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight coming in through the open windows. Ryan's still there, though he's facing Brendon now, their legs scissored together. Brendon's breath catches when he realizes the way they're lined up, making it obvious they're both hard.

Ryan opens his eyes a little, gives Brendon a small smile and just shuffles in closer.

Brendon wants to kiss Ryan until they're both breathless with it, he realizes. The taste in his mouth is worse now, so he doesn't, just kisses the tip of Ryan's nose and rolls out of bed.

"Going surfing," he says, when Ryan looks questioningly at him. "want to make out when I get back?"

Ryan's face breaks into a grin, then, eyes squinty with it and he makes a pleased noise. "I suppose," he says with a sigh, unable to keep a straight face as he says it.

Brendon can't help himself, he scrambles back onto the bed, straddles Ryan's hips and kisses him square on the mouth, awful breath and all. "Oh my god, you're adorable," he says, thumbing Ryan's lower lip when he pulls away.

 

* * *

 

Brendon spends forty-five minutes surfing, distracted by Ryan's sleepy eyes, the way he smelled. He cuts it short in hopes of finding Ryan and backing him up against the fridge before he has to be at work.

He goes sloshing up the old wooden steps, his skin tingling from too much sun, tight from the salt water. He's still got sand between his toes despite standing in the makeshift shower and he feels good, exhausted and achey and pleasant.

He's not paying much attention as he comes in off the deck, wiping his feet on the matt. It takes him a second to register the voices coming from the kitchen, Ryan's soft monotone and Jon's, slightly raised with irritation.

"You're my friend," Jon's saying and Brendon doesn't make a habit of eavesdropping but there's a low note of warning in Jon's voice that Brendon hasn't heard before and it keeps his feet planted, unable to move. "But he's my best friend. I don't care what you do as long as he's happy. Don't hurt him."

Brendon's so surprised he thinks he might have stopped breathing.

He hurries down the hall to the bathroom before he can hear Ryan's response.

Jon's been protective of him since before Brendon could so much as talk, a year and a half older than him and always looking out for Brendon whether Brendon needed, or wanted, it.

Brendon's not an idiot. He doesn't have much experience, he's barely nineteen, but he knows what this is. Ryan'll be going back to school in the fall with Jon and Brendon'll be back in Chicago, living at home and working his way through classes at the community college. He's not expecting anything from this, from Ryan. Ryan's got too many ghosts even if the physical circumstances were different for it to be anything other than a couple of months of fun, caught up in the romanticism of the Carolina beach.

Nothing between him and Jon has been resolved. It's likely to stay that way for a few days while they work out their shit, but Brendon can't ignore this.

He finishes his shower, gets dressed in cargo shorts and an old t-shirt and goes down the hall to find Jon.

"Can I talk to you?" Brendon asks quietly, standing in the doorway of the room they shared for the last eighteen years of summers. Jon's pulling his t-shirt over his head and he turns towards Brendon, pausing with the material rucked around his chest.

He smiles and there's a part of Brendon that'll always go mushy for that smile, the way Jon's face always softens when he looks at Brendon, a smile he never has for anyone else. But Brendon's done being the puppy at Jon's heels.

"I heard what you said to Ryan," Brendon says, tilting his chin just a little.

Jon's face changes, smile falling away. "And you're mad."

Brendon says nothing.

Jon takes a step towards Brendon, straightening his shirt. "B, I'm sorry you heard that, but I'm not gonna apologize for looking out for you."

Brendon bristles at that. "I don't want you to look out for me, Jon. I don't want you running away guys I like because you can't handle that I want someone who isn't you.."

Jon's face falls, this cloud settling in his eyes and Brendon's heart breaks a little all over again, like he's fourteen and realizing that Jon's not ever going to love him like that.

Jon's played this game though, since then, since forever. You don't want me, Brendon had said when he was seventeen and Jon had put his fist in the face of the college guy Brendon had been dating for three months, seconds after Jon had caught Brendon on his knees for him. But you don't want me with anyone else.

"Don't, Brendon," Jon says now, voice sad. "That's not what this is about."

"It's not?" Brendon says, eyebrow raised. "It's not about you loving that I've been hung up on you forever? Why don't you just admit it, just tell me this once, you love that I've been crazy about you, and you hate the idea that that could change."

"I'm sorry I always hurt you," Jon says, moving towards Brendon. "I want you to be happy."

"I don't believe you," Brendon says, jaw tight.

Jon looks like Brendon just hit him then. He takes a stunned step back. He lets out a shaky breath and falls to the edge of the bed, sitting with a thud.

"It would be so much easier," he says, voice rough, "if I wanted you like that."

Brendon feels the wind get knocked out of him. It's the first time Jon has ever acknowledged it between them.

He doesn't want to do this now, anymore. He has plans, making out plans with Ryan, and he's tired of this.

"Don't do anything like that again," he says, turning his back from Jon and shutting the door behind him.

Ryan's still in the kitchen when Brendon finds him. He's sitting at the counter, smiling at something he's reading in his book, a bowl of cereal forgotten beside him.

"I'm sorry about Jon," Brendon says, coming up behind him. Ryan looks up, startled, smiling.

"Don't apologize for him," Ryan urges softly. He gets to his feet, a hand coming up to rest at Brendon's waist.

"You look well-rested," Brendon mumbles, taking a step closer, to feel Ryan's body heat.

Ryan's eyes are serious when he says, "I haven't slept like that in a really, really long time. Thank you."

Brendon drapes his arms over Ryan's shoulders. "That's what friends do for each other," he says.

"I changed my mind," Ryan whispers, quiet, eyes dark. "I'm not trying to be your friend anymore."

Brendon smiles, closing the distance, just a breath between them. "That's okay by me, I don't want to be your friend either."

Ryan moves then, tilts his chin and opens his mouth, slides his lips against Brendon's.

Brendon exhales and kisses him back.

 

[ the end ]


End file.
